


the horizon tries but it's just not as kind on the eyes

by Limiu_Saga



Series: Modern Merlin Fics aka. My One True Passion [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Reincarnation, Romance, no beta we just die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26563744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limiu_Saga/pseuds/Limiu_Saga
Summary: “So, you know, for the past two hours I’ve been sitting in my kitchen, looking over here and wondering, ‘why is that dude sitting alone, eating cake and pizza in the middle of the night, two nights in a row?’ Because THAT seems like a new low, and I decided that I really wanted to meet this type of person.”---Arthur is turning 31, and is using this chance to mope around in a cottage by the ocean. Merlin finds this slightly amusing.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Modern Merlin Fics aka. My One True Passion [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177445
Comments: 14
Kudos: 157





	the horizon tries but it's just not as kind on the eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a bittersweet 500 word story set in a cottage by the ocean, but sometimes you get extra time on your hands, and this is what i ended up with instead.
> 
> Also my first language is NOT english, so I'm sorry for whatever mistakes may be hidden in this story. 
> 
> Also also, the title is from the song Arabella by Arctic Monkeys. I love that song. Please go and listen to it.

In the grand scheme of things, Arthur thought his life to be quite dull. But do not misunderstand that word, nothing about his life was bad. He grew up in a family of three, never rich, but never poor. His parents were good people. _Are_ good people. They might pester him about grandchildren from time to time, and some of their views are a bit too conservative for his taste. But they love and respect him, and that is what matters.

Being an only child meant he may have been a tad spoiled from time to time. Nothing to excessive, but the presents were built from a love he couldn’t comprehend at that age. As a result, he regretted some decisions he made in his late teen years, but all in all, he wouldn’t call himself a bad person.  
He grew older, and his years in university went by all too fast. He found himself accepting the diploma without much recollection of doing it. Hungover and emotionally done with school, he found himself experiencing that one John Mulaney bit. What does one do with a degree in English literature.

When he turned 26, he moved to Birmingham and found himself an office job in a small business firm, trying to use that critical thinking he should have learned when he pulled himself through all those years of school. He discovered his love for strategy and planning and thanked the Sunday evening chess games he played with his father, when he still lived at home.  
Slowly he adjusted to the office lifestyle and put the years of partying and drinking behind him. He worked 9 to 5, Monday to Friday. Every Saturday he would go out drinking one or to pints with one of his university mates or a small group of co-workers. After two hours he would walk home and sit down in front of his laptop to watch Netflix and ignore his ever-shrinking social life. He usually went home to his parents for the holidays or visited their cottage at the east coast.  
Over the years he brought home two sad excuses for girlfriends and one mildly annoying boyfriend. None of them lasted for more than seven months. Not that it bothered him. They didn’t fit in the system he had made for himself and his job.

So yes, he thought his life dull.

Arthurs spent the week of his 31st birthday at the cottage, drinking white wine and eating cold sloppy pizza. His parents were away for the month, visiting friends in Holland, and they were oh so sorry about not being home and celebrating. Arthur couldn’t care less in that moment. Instead of caring, he had turned his sleep schedule upside down, and was sitting in front of the tv, watching some nature documentary about birds, at three-thirty in the morning. Which was why the knocking on the windows behind him, may have made his heart jump a few meters up into his throat. But Arthur isn’t scared by nature, so if someone were to ask him about the goosebumps crawling up his arms, it would be because he is cold, and not terrified in the slightest.

Arthur turns around to look out into the pitch-black darkness, that is three-thirty in the morning, and sees a smiling face being illuminated by the light inside the cottage. Pure happiness is seen in the eyes of the man Arthur doesn’t recognise, and he wonders if he should call the police instead of just sitting there, staring at a stranger.

The man in the window waves, and points at the glass door beside him. Gesturing to get Arthur closer to him. Once again Arthur’s thoughts go to the police, because this man _is_ trespassing, and sober Arthur would know that he is too tipsy to deal with a lunatic.  
His eyes scan the man again and concludes that he could easily take down this man in a fight. So drunk Arthur ignores sober Arthur and stands up to talk to the man. Mostly because he is a tiny _tiny_ bit cute.

“What’re you doing here?” Arthur tells the blue eyes that meet his, the moment he opens the door. “This is private property, and I could have you arrested.”

He is pretty sure he can’t.

“Oh, I just wanted to ask you, if you could turn the melancholy down. It’s loud enough I can hear it on the other side of the road.” He weakly throws his hand in the direction of the house on the opposite side, where Arthur can see all the lights turned on. That can’t be good for the electrical bill.

“Why’s it your problem?”

“Well us insomniacs can’t really be bothered going to sleep, especially when I can see your ass drinking your problems away and watching the most boring channel on the telly. So, you know, for the past two hours I’ve been sitting in my kitchen, looking over here and wondering, ‘ _why is that dude sitting alone, eating cake and pizza in the middle of the night, two nights in a row?_ ’ Because THAT seems like a new low, and I decided that I really wanted to meet this type of person.”

Arthur only listened to about half of the things this strange man said. Instead he was looking at the way the soft curls in the dark hair was being thrown about, while he threw around his arms in wild gestures.

“Well, you’re also awake.” Arthur said, beginning to be a bit defensive about his current state.

“Yes, and I’m awake because of you, and I find that a bit rude.” He crossed his arms and smirked. _He smirked._ Arthur did most definitively not like the way this man smirked.

“What’s your name?”

“Merlin.” Arthur almost laughed at that but decided at the last minute not to. He _did_ have a client last week named Legolas, so he supposed Merlin wasn’t the most outlandish name. But it did fit well with the bird documentary he had just been watching.

“Well Merlin, since none of us can sleep, then why don’t you come inside, and we can be pathetic together.”

“I’m not pathetic, you’re the one drinking by yourself. I’ve simply come to help.” Merlin’s smirk turned into a smile again, and he strutted past Arthur and stepped right into the living room. Arthur found another wine glass, and put it down on the table, as Merlin took his seat in the sofa.

  
“Sure, Merlin. That’s why you knock on strangers’ windows in the middle of the night.”

_________________________

It didn’t occur to Arthur afterwards, that he never told Merlin his name, but Merlin seemed to know it anyway. Knowing that probably wouldn’t have changed much. It would bug him for a bit, but eventually he would have arrived at a reasonable conclusion. If he had remembered that small detail, they still would have fallen into that weird routine, Arthur would be somewhat too embarrassed to tell anyone about.

He woke up, sprawled across the sofa, drool on one of the pillows, and in yesterday’s clothes. An empty bottle of wine and two glasses being the only reminder of the visitor from the night before. He glanced at his phone. Three missed calls and a text message from his mother. For a moment he thought about just shutting down the phone and throwing it into the ocean. But as he was nearing sober Arthur, he decided that his mum deserved a call back.

“ _Arthur! I was getting a bit worried for a moment there_.”

He chuckled into the phone, as he sat up straighter.

“Hi mum.”

“ _You sound groggy, did you spend the entire night watching telly again_?”

“I turn 31 tomorrow, mum. I can’t stay awake past 10 pm anymore.” He didn’t like lying, but telling your mother that you let a strange man into their cottage three-thirty in the morning to drink white wine, eat cold pizza, and trash talk The Big Bang Theory for a few hours, may not be something she would be pleased to hear.

“ _Yes, I know sweetie, and dad and I are still so so sorry about not being home this week. But in two weeks’ time, I promise that we’ll come to Birmingham to celebrate_.”

“I know, and I’ll look forward to it.” His sight blurred for a second or two, as he stood up from the sofa. “How’s Holland?”

His mum’s friend moved to Holland with her husband three or so years ago, and since then Arthur’s parents have gone to visit them once or twice a year. When they get back, they always babble on and on about Linda and her new and dainty little shop in the outskirts of Amsterdam, and how they’ve learned a new word or even an entire sentence in Dutch. It all got rather tiresome after the second time. As she’s talking about Linda’s flower shop or shoe store or whatever it is, she owns, Arthur has the chance to dose off for a few seconds.  
He takes a trip around the living room and comes across a piece of paper on the dining table. Scruffy cursive handwriting is sprawled across the innocent piece of paper, and Arthur almost misses his mum asking him a question, as he’s trying to read it.

“Heard from Taylor? No, not since they moved away.” Arthur quickly answered. Taylor was Linda’s kid, and from what Arthur understood, they had moved to Scotland to paint. Arthur’s mum thought it was a risky choice, but Linda had seemed overly excited that one of her kids are doing something artsy.

Speaking of artsy. He picks up the paper, and moves it closer to his eyes, like that is going to help him read it. In a bizarre way, it does.

_Sorry I had to run, and I didn’t want to wake you. You were busy moisturising your pillow._

Subconsciously, he rubs his cheek.

_But I had a really good time! Maybe I’ll go knocking on more random windows in the future. But since you’re staying the week, I suppose I must settle with yours. As I looked into your fridge, (sorry) I saw absolutely nothing, and I may or may not be feeling a bit bad for you. I’m warning you in advance, that I’m coming back tonight to cook something for you, so you don’t have to live off of pizza and cake alone._

_\- Merlin_

_P.S. I’m leaving your front door unlocked. I don’t know how to leave and lock it simultaneously. I hope no one breaks in while you’re sleeping :)_

A small smile was planted on the side of Arthurs mouth. So much so that he did miss his mum asking him something.

“ _Arthur, are you even listening_?”

“Yes! Yes, I am. Sorry, I dozed off there for a bit.”

“ _Tired_?”

He contemplated lying, but in the end, this is his mum he’s talking to.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“ _No need to apologise, sweetie. I’ll leave now so you can get on with your day. And remember to get out of the cottage, sweetie. You need the sun.”_

“I’ll remember. Talk to you later.”

“ _I love you.”_

“Love you too, mum. Bye.”

_________________________

Merlin had kept his word and came crashing into the house 5 pm that very same evening. Crashing isn’t a bad word choice, as Arthur didn’t hear anything else but the front door flying open, and a loud bang as Merlin swings a paper back up onto the kitchen counter.

“Hello.” Arthur tries to say, but Merlin is already gone again. He walks the few steps towards the paper backs and glares into one of them. He pulls up a bottle of red wine from Spain and some almond milk.

“Can you put that in the fridge?” He hears from behind him. He turns to see Merlin standing with a red tablecloth.

“Uhm, sure.” He opens the not-as-empty-as-Merlin-says-it-is fridge and puts the wine and the almond milk into it.

“And sorry for just barging in, but I’ve decided that I’m tired of knocking.” Merlin says, putting down the tablecloth, and walking over to help unpack the bags.

“Tired of knocking?”

  
“Exactly! You get it.” Merlin smiles that idiotic smile again, and pulls some paprika out of the bag, not even looking at Arthur. But Arthur is taking a good look at the other man. It’s the first time he sees Merlin in proper lighting, and he has decided that he’s not going to stop looking.  
The soft curly black hair is almost long enough to fall into his eyes, as he looks down in the bag. Slender build, and a tad taller than Arthur. He is wearing a blue jumper, and Arthur is sure that he spots a necklace hiding behind it. Black jeans, and the most peculiar boots he has seen in a very long time.

“What’s with the boots?” Arthur asks, trying to sound as casual as he can muster. Merlin’s eyes light up at the question.

“They’re really cool right?” He lifts his right foot slightly, as to show them off. “I got them specially made in France a few years back, and I love them.”

The boots are a mix between gold and black, shifting in the light. Arthur tries to place the material and ends on thinking of them being made of some kind of lizard skin. Maybe alligator or something. That must be really expensive to get made, and Merlin doesn’t give off the vibe of someone rolling in cash.

“What’re they made off? Is it real skin?”

“Noo! No, it’s not. I’m actually really against that type of animal treatment. It’s really cruel. I’d never get something made from real leather or fur.” He had put his foot down again, as it didn’t seem possible to flutter your arms and standing on one leg at the same time.

“I suppose you’re also vegan or something? That’s why you got the almond milk?” Growing up with slightly conservative parents, the food on the table was usually some combination of meat and potatoes or some type of pasta. He hadn’t really had a close experience with vegetarian courses, as he continued his parent’s tradition when he moved out.

“No, I’m not vegan.” Merlin laughed. Arthur really likes that laugh. “I suppose I’m closer to being vegetarian. I will eat meat though; I just only eat it if it’s from an animal I caught myself.”

“You hunt?”  
  


“No, that’s sorta the problem. I really can’t get myself to kill something so innocent looking! They all have these really big eyes and… and I just can’t do it.” Arthur contemplates the fact, that hunters usually don’t get close enough to the animal, to see their eyes. “But if you went out and hunted down an animal for dinner, then sure, I’d eat it.”

Arthur finds that explanation fitting to Merlin. Running around in weird alligator boots, not killing on hunting trips, and instead embracing the vegetarian lifestyle.

“Oh, and they’re supposed to look like dragon scales.” Merlin adds, grinning down at the boots. Yes, it’s all very fitting.

_________________________

Merlin cooks dinner, while Arthur sits with his laptop trying to work, sneaking glances in Merlin’s direction as he cuts vegetables and doing whatever it is, he’s doing. Half an hour flies by, with Merlin humming a million different songs, and Arthur not being annoyed in the slightest. And that is being said without sarcasm, to Arthur’s surprise.

At long last, his stomach betrays him, and roars out for the entire cottage to hear.

“Hungry?” Merlin’s head is tipped slightly, and that god-awful smirk has returned.

  
“No, I’m just talking to my stomach.” Arthur spits, a bit harsher than first intended. Merlin doesn’t react to the tone, but his smirk deepens a bit.

“Ah. Hangry I see. Well good thing dinner is ready!” He whips out two plates, and puts one down in front of Arthur, as he pushes the computer to the side. He snatches a glass baking dish out from the oven, and places it in the middle of the table with the red tablecloth. Arthur has risen from the seat, to get two wine glasses and the bottle. As he sits down again, Merlin screams “bon appetite!” and planted himself in the opposite seat.

“What is it?” Arthur asks. He doesn’t like to see himself as a picky eater but being as unexperienced in the wonder that is vegetarian food (and let’s be honest, vegetables), he pauses before eating.

“It’s vegan moussaka! I learned to make it, when I was studying food in Greece, and it’s become one of my favourite meals.” He locks eyes with Arthur for a moment. “Come on, eat it. It isn’t rat. I promise.”

So, Arthur tries it, and he won’t ever admit to how much he loves it.

_________________________

If someone had asked Arthur why he had turned off his phone the evening before his 31st birthday, then he wouldn’t have been able to give a coherent answer. And people would ask him in the future. His mates from university had called or texted him, along with a few co-workers, asking if he was up for drinks that weekend. One girl from marketing had gathered up the courage to tell Arthur, that evening, about the stupid crush on him she had developed. But Arthur didn’t care about those things, because it was nearing midnight, and Merlin had the weirdest way of telling stories, and it intrigued Arthur without end. In a few minutes when the clock hits midnight, then that day would be nearing his top three favourite birthdays. Not quite topping his 6th birthday, he got to spend in Disneyland, Paris.

Because Arthur sees his life as dull, and this man, with dragon scale boots, is far from boring.

“May I ask, why you’re using a week of your life, in a cottage, all alone?” Merlin asks eventually, after a few glasses of wine.

Before Arthur can remember to behave like a normal human and lie about his current situation, his mouth answers for him. “It’s my birthday tomorrow. Didn’t wanna spend it alone in Birmingham working, so I took the week off to celebrate by myself in my parent’s cottage.”

Merlin sets down the glass, and lets his eyes catch Arthur’s. Arthur can’t get himself to look away. “It’s your birthday tomorrow?” Arthur nods, and takes another sip of the glass. “You should have said so! You clotpole.”

“Hey!” He says, assuming the word is a slur, and feeling like protecting his honour.

“Well this is certainly not a good enough celebration, then.” Merlin lifts the bottle of wine and empties it into Arthur’s glass. “Drink up, and then I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He does as he is told, and almost downs the glass in one giant slurp. Which is a shame, because it really is a good wine. Midnight comes and goes, as Merlin hasn’t come running back through the door yet. Five minutes later and Arthur takes a long look at the second bottle of wine, standing unopened a few meters away from him. At last he decides against it, he can’t be as pathetic as Merlin seems to think he is. Instead he finds amusement from looking out the window, and into the cottage Merlin suppositively owns. He can see a shadow run around in there. No, not running. Merlin is tripping around the house, falling over his legs every two seconds. Arthur doesn’t resist the smile and the pinkness rising in his cheeks.

A few more minutes pass, as the shadow that is Merlin locks the front door to his own cottage and begins to walk towards Arthur’s. He walks into the living room holding a giant basket. “Throw on a jacket, it’s chilly outside.” And with that he turns around and walks out again. Leaving Arthur calling after him.

“Outside? We’re going outside?” He raises his voice a bit more. “Merlin it’s past midnight!” But the walls must have developed some type of sound blocker, since Merlin didn’t see it fit to pop his head in again and answer. “I’m gonna freeze my balls of.” He mumbles and gets his jacket.

_________________________

Merlin apparently doesn’t think it’s a good idea to tell Arthur what’s in the basket, no matter how much Arthur asks him about it. But he stops at a point, and fishes a scarf up from it, and as Arthur tries to take a peek into it, he quickly pulls the basket out of eyesight, and send him the finger when Arthur calls him childish.

Nearing the top of a hill, Merlin tells Arthur to stop and wait, as he runs off with the basket. He obeys, but thinks about the unopened bottle of wine, and his warm couch, and the Netflix account, that have been collecting dust since yesterday. But he waits. He finds himself knowing that he will always be willing to wait.

Merlin almost falls into Arthur, when he comes back. “Come on. I’ve got a surprise.” Merlin takes Arthur’s hand and pulls him the rest of the way up the hill.

He hears the waves crashing somewhere below them. Wind is rushing through their hair, but Arthur can’t be bothered to notice, when he sees the red blanket sprawled across the grass and in the middle a bottle of something, Arthur thinks is whiskey. Four tiny candles are turned on, which can’t be safe, but why should one care. Beside them stands the basket, with something looking like a stack of paper on top of it.

“Happy birthday!” Merlin exclaims, hugging Arthur. “I know it isn’t much, but you have to excuse me. You didn’t give me a long time to plan, and I usually wait for a week to do this, cause then you’re a bit more comfortable around me, and I’m not a complete stranger anymore. But then you said it was your birthday, and that seemed a bit lonely, so I really, really hope this is a good birthday gift.”

Arthur bites his lip, and a tiny crease forms between his brows. “I’m not following you.”

Merlin scratches the back of his neck, while laughing awkwardly. “Yes, I’m still not good at this. Should have thought so after so many years, but here goes.”

So, Merlin leans forward and kisses Arthur. Arthur is still trying to wrap his brain around the word vomit Merlin had thrown out there, but instead disappears into the kiss.

And from the darkness, Arthur Pendragon rises.

_________________________

Arthur finds his life dull. Loving parents, a good enough childhood, and a small but somewhat steady friend group. It’s the recipe for a fine life. So a fine life he lives, up until the morning of his 31st birthday, when an ocean of memories, rivalling the ocean a hundred meters in front of him, comes rushing back. Because Arthur’s life is far from dull, and the stack of letters from different Arthurs throughout the decades will agree with that.

He lies reading those letters, in the arms of an impossibly old man. He looks to the horizon, and sees the sun rising a few hours after he did so himself. Purple and pink clouds overflow the sky, as the shining ball of light, sets the ocean on fire.  
He tries to catch Merlin’s eyes, but they’re looking at the bright new morning, never knowing what Arthur thinks in that moment.

Because even though the horizon tries, then it will never be as kind on the eyes as him.


End file.
